


Spiral of Ants

by TerusSpicyLasange



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Armageddon, Aziraphale Misses Crowley, Crowley misses Aziraphale, Gabriel - Freeform, M/M, Michael - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerusSpicyLasange/pseuds/TerusSpicyLasange
Summary: Armageddon has destroyed everything Aziraphale and Crowley once knew. Stuck in the middle of war, they must find each other and try to survive as Heaven and Hell destroy everything they once loved, including each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to J_Anthony for beta'ing this for me!!

He remembers seeing the boy rise in the air, dark clouds swirling in the sky. He remembers feeling the ground shake beneath their feet and loud voices screaming all around them. He remembers seeing the armies of angels and demons meet in the distance and the world falling around the cluster of otherworldly beings. 

The final thing he remembers is how tightly Aziraphale was holding his hand. Then, suddenly, he was back in Hell.

It had been months since that day. He hadn't slept since, not that he was allowed to. The battles were long and grueling. He watched as the life he had known for 6,000 years was destroyed right in front of him. There were no more humans, of course nothing mortal could withstand Armageddon. Although he was in London, there was nothing there to even insinuate what it used to be, apart from the rubble of Buckingham palace and a dry ditch, dividing the city in half like a scar, that was once the Thames. Hell had taken it over as trenches for the war.

The only piece of his past life that he had left was his phone. His clothes had burned away when he received his army uniform, along with his glasses. His flat had been annihilated in all the blasts and the bookshop had burned down before Armageddon had even begun. His phone was the one thing that held any evidence of better times.

He never had to charge it, so there was no problem with the lack of electricity. The internet had been destroyed so all he could use it for was photos and a few crappy puzzle games he'd downloaded before Armageddon to pass the time.   
He was resting in the trenches for a few minutes when he took out his phone and opened his photo gallery. He tapped on a picture of Aziraphale in the back room of the bookshop. He was asleep, it was the first and last time he'd seen Aziraphale in such a state of relaxation. His face was fully relaxed with his mouth ever so slightly open. You could see the corner of Crowley's head in the bottom left corner. It was taken around 6 months before Armageddon. They'd had a cozy night in with lots of wine and laughter. He still remembers the soft snore that Aziraphale made while he slept.

"OI!" Hastur scowled, grabbing the phone and shoving Crowley out of his daze. "Are you an idiot?" He frowned after looking at the photo. "We are in the middle of Armageddon and you're looking at photos of the enemy?! You're lucky that you got caught out while you did. If we didn't need so many soldiers we would have destroyed you by now." 

Crowley reached out for the phone, desperate to keep it safe. He watched as Hastur crushed the phone in his hand and threw the shattered glass and scraps of metal onto the floor before walking away.

He stared at the broken phone for a minute, before getting up and walking further down the trench where a dirt hill led up to the river bank where the fighting was happening. He looked up and saw masses of black and white wings clashing in the red sky. He ran out of the trench and into the fighting, deciding to take out his anger on the other angels. He transformed into his snake form and slithered along the scorched ground. The serpent snuck up behind the back of a brunette angel, jumped up and buried his fangs in the angel’s neck. The angel screamed as Crowley pumped his venom into their veins. He felt the angel’s form evaporate and disappear under him. He switched back to his demon form, reforming while sitting on the ground, forgetting the sting of bones repositioning themselves. 

Wait... That angel was a brunette... Right? Crowley’s heart that had been beating voluntarily for the past 6,000 years stopped. He started to second guess himself. If that was a blonde angel, it could have been Aziraphale. If he killed Aziraphale then he'd never forgive himself. He's a horrible person. Too evil for a demon, killing the only person you've ever loved. He’d be utterly and truly alone, and he fully deserved it. How could he even do something like that?

He was quickly reminded that he didn't kill Aziraphale when a different angel ran up to him and attacked him, screaming about how he killed someone else with a different name. He breathed a sigh of relief which just so happened to contain hellfire, killing the angel instantly. Two deaths in less than a minute. 

Crowley suddenly noticed a golden spear flying towards him. He dodged it by the skin of his teeth, the blade just barely catching on his arm. He screamed in pain. Despite the small cut, it stung like hell. The flesh around it had already burned in a hideous black, acidic blood dripped down his arm and stained his satanic uniform. 

The demon ran as fast as he could back to the trenches, dousing himself in whatever elixirs he could find in the medical area. His pain eventually subsided and he dragged himself to a small den he'd dug in a small tributary that once flowed off the river. The entrance was sheltered by a large rock he had found nearby while digging it. It made him feel like Jesus, only if he died he wouldn't be coming back (allegedly).

He crawled in, pushed the rock back in front of the entrance and collapsed onto the floor. He hated everything. He wanted his normal life back. He wanted his phone back. He wanted Aziraphale back. He didn't understand why this stupid war had to happen. He felt cheated. He heard footsteps approaching from the trenches where he came from and Crowley stayed deathly still.

The rock was thrown out of the way and he was dragged out of his den. Being picked up by the collar of his shirt, he was brought face to face with Dagon.  
"Do you think this is the proper way to act in a war, traitor?!" they screamed in his face. Crowley didn't reply. Dagon slapped him across the face, as if to demand an answer.  
"No. It's not." He said quietly.   
"Are you looking to be executed? Because I can do that right now if that's what you'd prefer!" Their top lip pulled back in a scowl.  
"I... I-" 

Crowley tried to speak, but something overcame him. A deep and horrid sorrow that he'd only felt once before when he fell. He stared at Dagon, who was beginning to look more and more confused. He thought about this war and how much had been destroyed, all the things he'd never get to see or do again... The idea that Aziraphale might be dead. He let out a loud sob... That led to another... And another... And soon he was weeping as Dagon held him up.

He heard Dagon let out a noise of disgust before he was thrown back onto the dry river bed. "How embarrassing," he thought, "No demon is meant to cry. Especially in front of Dagon of all people."   
He just lied there for Satan knows how long. Minutes. Hours. Days. He'd stay there for all of eternity if he could.

Eventually Crowley lifted himself up off the ground. He looked down the path where he had come from. The war was still raging on, the smell of burning flesh permeating the air. He looked to the other side, where he hadn't gone past yet. It still looked just as apocalyptic, but there weren’t as many beings. It'd be an easy escape route.

He walked ahead and didn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh so anyways whats aziraphale up to  
> TW for details of head injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to J_Anthony on ao3 and and emily._.6755 on instagram for doing the beta for this chapter!!

“Please don’t make me go back out there.” Aziraphale begged.

He was sitting in a pew in Westminster Abbey. It was the only building left of London’s skyline. It was mainly used for private meetings between archangels or briefings with the Metatron. 

Gabriel gave a small ‘tut’ at him. “This is war, Aziraphale, and not just any war, the war. You’re a principality, you’re fully capable of fighting in it. Now show me where you got hit.” Gabriel sighed, reaching for the back of Aziraphale’s head.

His skull was close to caved in at the back. There were nails lodged deep in his head and the once white curls were stained wine-red with blood. Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath through his teeth at the tiny amount of pressure Gabriel put on his head.

“What even happened?” Gabriel asked, bringing his hand a little bit further away from Aziraphale’s head, trying not to hurt him.

“I-I don’t know. I think it could have been one of those baseball bats with all the nails hammered through it, or perhaps it was a nail bomb? It’s all rather fuzzy…” Aziraphale said in a hollow tone. 

He was exhausted, all the fighting had been non-stop. This was the first time he’d sat down in God knows how long. He felt Gabriels power focus at the back of his head. Suddenly, all the nails were flying out of his skull and he could feel the wounds healing. He could feel everything as it happened, holding back screams at the ripping of more flesh, but sighing with relief when it was all over. 

“You’re gonna have to be careful with that, I could only do so much.” Gabriel said once the procedure was finished. “If only Raphael was here…” He sighed under his breath. Aziraphale nervously looked down at his fumbling hands.  
“Thank you… For healing me. That was a close one.” 

He laughed nervously. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified. He wasn’t a fighter, so being in a war was less than ideal. He had been healed from a life-threatening injury three or four times now, each worse than the last. If he were human, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Just get back out there.” Gabriel groaned while walking away, not wanting to listen to Aziraphale’s babbling. 

“Please, I can’t go back out into the fighting.” He begged, turning around in his seat to face the archangel. “I know you’re sick of healing me, please Gabriel, I’m begging you. Anything but this.” His voice quivered, tears brimming in his eyes. Gabriel didn’t even turn to look back at him.

“Aziraphale. You do understand that I’m only healing you so I don’t have the destruction of an angel linked to my battalion? If you get through this war, your execution will go ahead as soon as possible. We just need as many soldiers as we can right now. For you, it’s either die now or die later. When that happens is up to you.” Gabriel said darkly.

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop to the floor. “I hadn’t considered that.” He said quietly.

“Well then, consider it, but consider it while you’re fighting the enemy. We already let you sit around comfortably for 6,000 years, now go do something useful and make your existance worthwhile.” Gabriel told him coldly before walking back out of the church. 

Aziraphale turned back around and put his head in his hands, holding back his tears. He was sick of it all. He couldn’t find Crowley for the life of him, all of the other angels have been ignoring him since the whole scandal between him and the demon came to light and his life was coming to an end sooner or later. The options he had weren’t appealing in the slightest. He thought about how badly things had deteriorated and let out a loud, frustrated “ugh!” before recomposing himself. 

After a moment, Aziraphale pulled himself up off the pew and walked to the door leading outside. He slowly peeked his head through the crack of the door to see how bad things were on the battlefield. The coast seemed clear, so he quickly ran over to the trenches, which weren’t really trenches but rather long roofless hallways made out of rubble. If Hell was allowed to have trenches then so was Heaven, that’s how petty this whole war had gotten. 

He awkwardly pulled himself over the crumbling walls, barely managing to land on his feet, where he was met face to face with Michael, who looked just as exhausted as he was.

“Where the hell were you?!” They yelled, widening their eyes. 

“I-I got hit, Gabriel was healing me, I-” Not expecting to see another archangel so soon, he became flustered and struggled to get the words out of his mouth.

“You’re an angel for Her sake! Stop acting like a whiny human! If you get discorperated then at least there’ll be a body available for someone who’s actually willing to fight!” Their voice went shrill with either anger or exhaustion, Aziraphale couldn’t tell which was more prevalent.

He figured it was best to go back into the fight. He bowed to Michael, ran away as to escape their outburst and grabbed a random helmet off the floor. Heaven prided themselves in being tidy and organised but none of that really mattered now, “finders keepers” had become a key principle to getting supplies nowadays.

Aziraphale strapped on the helmet, making sure to cover his wound. It wasn’t nearly as bad now, but his skull was paper thin and if he got hit there again, his body would surely die. He climbed over the wall on the opposite side that he came from. He wasn’t really trained on how to fight. Well, he technically was in the beginning, but it’d been so long that it all kind of escaped him. Whenever he was out at the battlefield he just awkwardly pottered around, helping out wherever he could but avoiding anyone and everyone as much as possible. 

He looked around and saw an angel scrapping with a demon. The demon was much stronger than the angel, who was quickly brought to the ground and held down under the demon's knee. The demon revealed his hand, showing his long claws. He was a tiger, Aziraphale confirmed, noticing the orange fur with black stripes appearing on his arm. The demon put his hand around the angels neck, who was growing more and more panicked. If that demon slit the angel's neck, the angel would be destroyed. Direct attacks from a demon weren’t survivable, especially in their animal form.

Aziraphale thought fast. He unraveled his wings and flew above the demon. He stretched his wings as far as they’d go as he revealed his true form. He’d never seen it himself, nor has he ever had it described to him. All he knew was that he had more eyes than normal in this form. The demon was smited, obliterated into nothing but dust. He landed back on the ground, feeling weaker than before, and returned to his normal form. The angel rubbed the skin on his face where his extra eyes had been and held out his hand for the angel he saved to get up. He was caught off guard when the angel slapped it away.

“You just did that to make yourself look innocent. Stop trying to make us forget what you did, traitor.” The angel spat. 

They got up, brushed themselves off and ran away to find another demon to fight. Aziraphale didn’t really know what to do apart from put his hand back down at his sides.

He felt out of place, looked down and started to fumble with his hands. “This is bollocks.” He thought very quietly, looking around to make sure no one could hear his impolite inner monologue. He didn’t really have any other words to describe how he felt in that moment. Aziraphale was frustrated and fed up, everything he did was looked down upon, no one even wanted him there. The minute this war was over, if he was even still alive by then, he’d be thrown into some hellfire or served up as Satan’s lunch for all he knew. Everyone saw him as worthless and the one demon who actually cared about him probably isn’t much better off than he is. He didn’t even know if Crowley was still alive.

Aziraphale looked around. He looked back at his fumbling hands, thinking about how he felt and how everyone else seemed to feel about him. Then something occurred to him. Something truly astounding. He smiled and walked off. 

He figured he might as well go and see what was left of the bookshop.


End file.
